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COPYRIGHT, 1906 

•* *' X 

BY - S 

CHARLES MAUS TAYLOR 



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Published, August, 1905 


OW long I have lain in this cool, 

secluded spot, or from what source 

have drifted hither, I may not know. A 
feeling of life is stirring within me, and, for 
the first time, I am conscious of my sur- 
roundings, many fathoms deep in the green 
waters of the ever restless ocean. 

This is not a monotonous existence, for there 
is always something happening to interest 
one, and there is an indescribable beauty in 
the soft lights and shadows and pearly greys 
and lovely shimmering greens that mingle 
with the royal purple hues, now swaying to 
and fro, now stretching their graceful arms 
upward towards the sunlight, now flinging 
themselves prone upon the earth, as though 
hopeless of ever attaining the “beyond.” 

Not far from me many of my brethren have 
formed themselves into a small beach, upon 
which hundreds of shells have drifted, many 
of them of rare shapes and exquisite coloring. 



6 


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S this beach is in an elevated position, it 
seems to take precedence of the others and 
rank as the aristocracy of our neighborhood ; 
and certainly the delicately rounded shells, 
with their smooth shining surfaces and irides- 
cent hues and curious forms well deserve this 
distinction. I observe them with delight, and 
am much interested in the newcomers, and 
the different manner in which each asserts 
his claim to membership in this noble society. 
Some glide in gently with the current, and 
settle into the vacant places with graceful 
ease ; while others rush fiercely in, pushing 
aside any who may be in their way, and 
regardless of the older members, make a dash 
for the best positions. Here, with great pro- 
truding horns, are what I term my “ Porcupine 
friends ; ” here, gleaming with prismatic lights 
that rival the rainbow, and illumine the water 
around them are the more delicate scions 
of the assembly. Truly a notable gathering. 




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life is a serene one, although its quiet 
is frequently broken by innumerable fishes 
swimming to and fro above my head. 
These, too, are a most interesting study, and 
again I am amused as their various disposi- 
tions manifest themselves. The tiny little 
ones strut about with an air of greater im- 
portance than their larger companions, who, 
for the most part, have an object in view, 
and seem to be bent only on attaining it. 
These last sometimes look very wicked, 
with their great open mouths and cruel 
eyes. At times there is a peaceful silence, 
and the green waters seem the abode of 
friendly races. But this does not last long; 
in a second there is a terrible panic among 
the “ small fry,” who flee in hopeless crowds, 
with the giants in swift pursuit; and this 
tragedy, incessantly repeated, sometimes makes 
me very sad. 



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UT I have also the comedy. Not far 
distant is a coral grove, whose innumer- 
^ able branches, twisting and turning in 
every direction, form a veritable fairyland; 
and here the young fish sport and amuse 
themselves from morn till night, and even 
the older ones do not disdain to exercise 
themselves in the intervals between more 
serious affairs. 

At times 1 hear great noises ; the waters 
rock violently, and it is only by clinging 
closely to my companions that 1 keep 
from being washed away from my resting 
place. Sometimes 1 wonder what would 
happen if 1 were removed from my present 
happy home. Could it be? 1 long for a 
new experience, and yet dread it. Over^" 
this 1 have no power, unless my wishes’^- 
shape themselves into forces, for lo, I am 
only one among the many millions of 



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EXIST thus through I know not how many 
days or months or years, sometimes impelled 
by a longing that seems almost strong enough 
to carry me on its wings into the great 
unknown ; but I have no hopes, and the past 
has given me nothing to suggest a new future. 
I have only my longings. Will they prevail? 

There is a mighty rushing of great waters. 
I watch a number of new shells enter the 
assembly of the elect, and wonder half un- 
consciously : “ Did they too long mightily for 
a different life?” Still more heavily comes 
the gigantic power, ploughing deep furrows 
in the bottom of the sea. We are all up- 
turned — my companions and I, and scattered 
as a million atoms through the boundless 
waste of whirling waters. On, on, we go 
in an apparently endless sweep of the raging 
elements, and I now feel that I am indeed 
nothing in the universe. 


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AN this be annihilation? The swish 
and swirl continue so long that I feel 
that this great “ Beyond ” is after all but 
a vast seething caldron, which engulfs 
all those who are not content with the peace- 
ful, uneventful existence at the bottom of the 
sea. As this despairing thought flashes over 
me, the billows climb higher and higher — 
higher still ; then suddenly a great white 
foamy crest envelops and bears me along 
more gently, though the waves are raging still 
in undiminished fury. I feel as though a 
higher, but more merciful force has tciken 
me in charge, and now 1 know that the 
vast engulfing caldron is not all. On we 
go, sailing beneath a glorious light, which 1 
had not seen while in the grasp of the 
angry waves — onward, and yet onward, until 
at last all motion ceases. t 


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Y foamy crest releases me and glides swiftly 
away. Something strangely familiar is near; 
it is the sand of a great dry beach, from 
which the waters have receded, leaving me 
once more among my own kind, but O, in 
what utterly different surroundings. 

Thus in an unlooked-for moment the change 
has come. It is some time before I become 
accustomed to the great white beach and the 
fiery planet glowang in the heavens. At first 
I feel that I must be a conspicuous object in 
the rays of this dazzling light, but soon in 
the utter unconsciousness of my companions, 
each of whom is absorbed in the effort to 
put forth his own infinitesimal individual 
sparkle, I realize once more the vastness of 
the universe, and the rather humiliating fact 
that each one can but fill his own place; 
and in that light all are of equal impor- 
tance — or insignificance. 


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OWEVER I am content with my 
position on the sunny beach, and soon 
begin to enjoy the many changes — the 
beautiful, radiant morning light, the noon- 
day glory, the dusky gloaming and the cool 
starry night, through which sometimes a 
fairylike veil shimmers, seeming to transform 
the restless sea and placid shore into gleam- 
ing masses of molten silver. Sometimes when 
the cool morning breezes have gone away, 
and the hot sun envelops us in his burning 
rays, I think of the old home at the bottom 
of the sea, with its pleasant, unvarying tem- 
perature and restful twilight; and when the 
great waves in extreme moments rush wildly 
towards me, 1 wonder how it would seem 
to be carried back to the quiet seclusion of 
my old home. But no — I would not like 
it at all! I would see more of the world 
— move with it — become a part of it. 






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ES, I want to have the thrill of real 
experience. But how am I to gain 
it? Helpless I lie upon the beach, the 
tiniest atom in that great mass, over 
which the footsteps of countless beings 
pass every day. I have now become 
an observer of the human race. To 
and fro, up and down, men, women 
and children wander in the bright morn- 
ings, the sunny afternoons and the dim 
nights. Sometimes they stop to rest 
not far from me, and I learn much of 
their kind through their conversation. 
Now it is a weary man of affairs, come 
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tion from a too busy life — now a pretty 
maiden, worn out with the recreations 
of society — an anxious mother with a 
delicate child — a pair of lovers, fleeing 
from well-meaning but officious friends. 
Oh, I learn much of human life, I 
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TILL other sounds reach me. Over 
the beach come the merrymakers — 
children’s voices are laughing and 
calling to each other. This is more like ^ 
my old home, reminding me of the little ^7 
fishes at their play. Here they come — 
a whole troop of them — running, leaping 
and flinging about their little buckets and 
paddles. They create quite a disturbance 
on the beach, for they dig up the sand 
and fill their buckets with it, then empty 
them upon the beach, forming great piles, 
which they call “Sand Cakes.” I am 
greatly alarmed lest I too be crowded 
with my neighbors into one of these piles, 
and so shut off from my post of observa- 
tion. Surely enough — 1 am gathered into 
one of the buckets by a pair of chubby 
hands, but to my surprise and delight, 
when the cake is made up, I am on the 
top of the heap. 



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ROM this point I can see half a 
! dozen other sand cakes. The little 
folk join hands and dance around us, 


singing happy, mirthful songs. How I 
love the sound of their glad young voices! 
After awhile they catch up their buckets 
and paddles and scamper off at a lively 
pace. I look around to see if there are 
any great fish to frighten them. But no, 
there is not a fish in sight. The great 
beach is deserted, and I feel lonely and 
forlorn, wishing that I too might join that 
active element, for which life seems to 
hold so much variety and charm. Still 
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even this slight elevation, and I grow a 
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T any moment the children may return, and 
with their wretched little shovels fling me 
down to the bottom of the heap. 

The winds, too, reach me here, and shake 
me not very gently. And now the sun is 
covered by a heavy purple cloud, which 
shakes out torrents of water straight down 
upon us. How very transitory are the cir- 
cumstances of this world! Is there no sta- 
bility in this upper world? We are all 
flattened to the earth, and nearly washed 
away by this dreadful torrent. I decide that 
I will not be proud if I am again raised to 
a distinguished position. 

The sun once more appears, and the 
days go on as before. I am frequently 
buried from sight, and am also raised to 
the summit of hills, that are scattered be- 
neath a strong breeze, or the footsteps of 
the endless processions. 



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O-DAY the sky is cloudless, and yet 
there is a sound in the air resembling 
thunder. It draws nearer, and now 1 
recognize the rumble of a cart. There have 
not been many carts upon this beach. 

1 have learned to know the large animal, 
called a horse, which serves the human species. 
The cart is drawn by one of them, and the 
driver suddenly calls out: “Whoa!” as it ap- 
proaches my neighborhood. 

The cart stops, and 1 have a premonition 
of change. With a great shovel the man begins 
to gather up the sand around, and pitch it into 
the cart. 1 do not like the prospect. The 
sand cakes are rudely broken up and thrown 
into the cart, and 1 groan despairingly, knowing 
that my time is surely coming. 1 am not mis- 
taken. The next instant the heavy shovel 
crashes into the sand close by; my companions 
are lifted up with me, and now we all lie in a 
confused mass in the wagon. 



OW I am glad that I am not alone. My 
companions, having led only the life of the 
seashore, are as utterly “at sea” as 1, 
in regard to our destination. I cannot 
even see our surroundings, for I am buried 
far down in the bottom of the wagon. 
The driver calls to his horse, and we begin 
to move, jolting along over roads, rough, 
and seemingly endless. 

At last we stop; the shovel begins its 
work again, and I am removed with my 
companions into a car, where we remain 
for some time. It is very disagreeable 
here. There is no sun, the air is chilly. 
My companions are sad and silent, and 
this makes me very blue. 

Suddenly the sliding door of the car 
is shoved back, and light appears at last. 








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STRONG voice shouts: “It is all right! 
A full car load,” and a blast of cold air 
sweeps over our heads. The door is shut, 
and we move forward at a pretty rapid 
rate, and through some openings in the 
car I perceive sunlight and green trees. 
At nightfall the car stops, and now the 
familiar stars peep in at us. How glad 
we are to see them. This experience 
seems to draw us all closer together, and 
we wonder in common what is to be 
the next step in our destiny. 

In the morning several men appear with 
their shovels, and we are thrown upon a 
great pile of sand. We are handled 
rather roughly, but I am glad not to be 
separated from my companions, and have 
hopes that this new state of existence 
will prove interesting. 


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Y great good fortune, I have been thrown 
upon the very top of the huge mound of 
sand, and soon settle down to observe 
my surroundings. 

A dingy building with tall chimneys 
puffing out great volumes of black smoke, 
first attracts my attention, and makes me 
feel that this is a much less attractive 
home than my former dwelling places. 
The sun still shines, but smoke from these 
stacks obstructs its rays, or mingles its 
dark tones with the bright beams, de- 
stroying their purity. 

A long time passes while we lie here 
apparently unheeded, and we all suffer 
with a common homesickness for the wide 
sunny beach and cheerful existence of 
the seashore. Many men move hither 
and thither with their working imple- 
ments, but we are sad and dreary, and 
pay little attention to their actions. 








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wo of them now approach our mound, 
and I hear one of them say: “Well 
to-morrow we will use this lot; so have 
your men on hand bright and early, and 
perhaps we can finish the pile in a day.” 

At these words we all fall into a dread- 
ful panic. What new fate is in store for 
us? Are we really to be finished up for- 
ever? Wiped out of existence? Any- 
thing were better than this. We look 
up at the summer sky, and upon our 
cheerless surroundings, and cling to each 
other in immeasurable woe, and the hours 
of the night are passed in terror. Early 
in the morning the workmen appear, and 
begin shoveling us rapidly into a huge 
iron car, which is pushed by strong arms 
into the dingy building, where we are 
surrounded on all sides by deep furnaces, 
whose slow roaring fires present a pros- 
pect anything but encouraging. 




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OW, for the first time, we learn that 
we are not as all other grains which 
form the surface of the earth. We are 
termed “silica,” and as this knowledge 
comes home to us, we find ourselves 
being crowded into a row of clay pots, 
the covers of which are securely fastened, 
leaving us in utter darkness. We are 
moved again. The close atmosphere 
of the crowded clay pots becomes suffo- 
cating. Surely we are melting away. 
Is this then really the end? Oh, how 
I long for the bright sunny beach, and 
the outdoor air. We gasp — we must 
be near to nothingness. Another move 
— the covers are lifted. Shall we 
breathe again? No — still more sand 
— or silica — “What’s in a name,” if 
this is the consequence ! Again we 
burn — we agonize — we almost lose our 
individuality, so closely are we united. 
Despair takes possession of me. 




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OW long we endure this suffering, it 
would be vain to even try to guess. 
Once more the lids are raised, and a 
great perforated scoop removes the pre- 
sumptuous part of us which has forced 
itself to the top in spite of everything. 
I wish now that I too had struggled 
up. But I could not have done it, I 
quickly perceive. It was the nature 
of that salt to boil up with the heat; 
of my body to melt — to fuse in the 
torrid atmosphere. We are pushed 
back into the most intense heat, and 
now I know that instead of being a 
grain of sand, I am a drop of liquid, 
so closely united to my brethren, that 
I have no individual power. When 
one flows, we all flow. 

Still, I know myself yet. I am a 
drop, and have my place, though it 
would be impossible for an outsider to 
distinguish one of us from another. 





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OMETIMES during the burning, 
we are stirred with a long wooden 
pole, but that does not ease matters. 
Then at intervals, small portions 
are withdrawn from the mass of us, 
— to be tested, I imagine, for my 
many experiences have made me 
consider seriously everything that happens. 
I even, amidst the torture, try to listen to 
the words of the men, but the exclamations : 
“ Now the carbonate of potash — now the 
oxide of lead,” have no meaning to my 
inexperience. Strange ingredients are cast 
among us, and we feel ourselves changing, 
we know not how. After long hours of 
pain, we feel a diminution of the intensity 
of the fire, and gradually, oh, so gradually 
we are for a long time unconscious of it, our 
torturers relax their efforts. Now we have 
become less fluid, in this cooling process, and 
when we are again uncovered, can be lifted 
out in a mass, or masses, by long iron tubes. 



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OW curiously I gaze about me when 
at last I have the power of observation 
again. I do not at first recognize myself 
or my companions — we are so changed. 
Beautiful varying tints appear as we are 
rolled about in a sort of hollow basin 
until we acquire a somewhat circular 
shape. Now the workman blows through 
his tube, and we are still so soft a mass 
that we fall away from the current of 
air, and speedly assume a hollow shape. 
We expand like a bubble — we become 
more and more transparent. The light 
shines through us, and everything is tinged 
by a new color, a soft rosy radiance. 
What a lovely world have I come into ! 
We are still one body, now being shaped 
by gentle touches here and there. 




OMETHING like a pciir of tongs en- 
larges one part, contracts another. We 
are trimmed carefully with a pair of scis- 
sors. I am wide awake, and hear them 
say the names of all these instruments. 
We are polished with wood; and then 
amid universal acclamation, we — I do not 
know how to designate us, for we are now 
indeed but one object — are carried on a 
pronged stick to the annealing oven. 
What! More torture? Yes, one more 
brief period of this fiery ordeal. We pass 
from cool to hot, hotter, hottest tempera- 
ture, then on to cool, cooler, coolest, and 
that experience is over — forever, I hope. 
I know that we have become an object 
of great beauty. It is proclaimed on all 
sides. We are praised for grace and 
symmetry, for rich iridescent coloring, for 
rare and distinguished appearance; and I 
say to myself: “And this is brought about 
by the ordeal of the .fiery furnace.” 










E have become an exquisite vase, made to 
delight the beauty loving eyes of humanity. 

A little more polishing on a wheel fed 
with sand and water ; a little more smoothing 
on a wheel of fine sandstone, and a final 
touch to the emery wheel and putty powder, 
while we are held carefully in the hand of 
the most skilled of the workmen, and we 
are pronounced perfect, and ready to be 
sent out into the world. Then ensues the 
delicate process of packing, and we are once 
more hidden from the light of day. 

In the darkness I hear a discussion 
going on among the members of this 
body, who were once grains of sand. 
“Much of the beauty of the vase is 
owing to me,” says one. “ I was one 
of the most brilliant grains upon the 
beach.” “Not more so than I,” cries 
a second, and more than a dozen voices 
" rise in indignant denial of the fact. 





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Y dear companions,” I protest, “we 
have all been deemed worthy to suffer 
in order to become this thing of beauty 
of which we form a part, so all must 
have been necessary to its existence. 
The invisible portions are as valuable 
to its well being as those which shine 
forth to challenge the admiration of 
the world. We are now but a mani- 
festation of the genius of a higher order. 
Let us rejoice in its wonderful crea- 
tions, and enjoy life as hitherto from 
our vantage ground of observation.” 

There is silence, and we talk no 
more, but lie more or less dormant till 
the unpacking of the box, and the light 
of day bursting in upon us, together 
with a chorus of exclamations, arouses 
us to the world of life once more. 








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are gently lifted and set in a cabinet, 
which are many other magnificent and 
rare pieces of gl ass and porcelain. It is 
a stately company, each of inexpressible 
value, as we learn from the comments of 
the many who pass to and fro before 
us, admiring, longing, some returning again 
and again to gaze in an undecided 
manner, which arouses our wonder. 

I discover that we are in an establish- 
ment which has only the finest and most 
costly wares for sale, and that many of 
the objects on exhibition, ourselves among 
the number, cannot be duplicated, as the 
risk of destruction in the making is so 
great that even the most skilful workman 
is not always successful. 

People come and go, and I am much 
entertained by the manner of those who 
patronize this establishment. There is 
daily a babel of voices, and much gossip 
among the customers, which is tiresome. 



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are frequently removed from the cabinet, 
^admired and put back again upon the an- 
nouncement of the price. One day a pleasant 
middle-aged man approaches, and gently 
taking us up, inquires our value of the sales- 
man. When he hears the answer — two 
hundred dollars — he starts back in affright, 
almost dropping us on the floor. I realize 
the consequences had we fallen, for I have 
already beheld several costly articles come 
to grief through careless handling. Some 
have been cemented together, and sold at 
a lower price, but others are irretrievably 
ruined; and I tremble until we are safely 
lodged again in the cabinet, and the glass 
doors closed upon us. 

Our life here passes quickly, for we are 
one day purchased by a gentleman of 
wealth, who wishes to surprise his wife 
with a valuable birthday present. Now 
we are introduced to the atmosphere of a v//. 
luxurious home and a happy family life. 





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E are received with the utmost delight 
by a young wife and mother on the 
morning of her birthday, and have the 
distinction of being the most admired of 
her many presents. We are treated with 
the greatest consideration, and the chil- 
dren are allowed to gaze upon us only 
from a distance. How we enjoy the 
cheerful progress of the days here, the 
merry prattle of the little ones, although 
we are set apart, gracing a handsomely 
carved table in a room of state. The 
whole of this floor, indeed, seems but 
one vast apartment, divided by rich por- 
tieres in the spacious archways which 
lead from one portion of it to another. 
Through the filmy laces which soften the 
daylight we behold ancient trees, stretch- 
ing out their branches to each other, 
and extending far into the distance, be- 
tokening the broad lands surrounding a 
beautiful country mansion. 



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RULY our lines are now cast in pleasant 
places. There is much conventional life 
here also. The seal of fashion is set 
upon my surroundings and regulates much 
of the life that goes on about me. Visitors 
come and go, and as the more formal 
ones are entertained in the drawing-room 
in which we hold our stately court, we 
have a fine opportunity of observing the 
manners and customs of the people of 
the world. “And now,” I think, “I will 
drink in wisdom from its very fount.” 
Alas for my ideas of wisdom. The 
people are attractive and pleasant, but 
their conversation consists of social gossip, 
and I wait in vain for that touch of 
real earnest that will lift it above the 
commonplace. Perhaps people do not 
have such thoughts in drawing-rooms. 



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OW and then a man or woman with 
hobby appears among the guests, and I 
listen till I am weary of the endless changes 
on a single theme. Sometimes I say to my- 
self : “If people would not talk at all, 1 
believe I would like them better.” 

And now we experience one of the 
fashionable social gatherings, called “a Tea.” 
It is a dreadful crush, and I am in constant 
terror lest one of the unwary should brush 
me from my resting place, and my life be 
crushed out forever beneath the throng of 
incessantly moving feet. The fragments of 
talk that come to me are extremely sense- 
less. “Where is the dignity of true human 
life?” I say to myself, as I watch the crowd, 
filling every available space, and holding the 
dainty cups and saucers — such priceless porce- 
lain treasures — carelessly in their hands, as 
they laugh and chatter — about nothing at 
all — or so it seems to me. 




HEAR passing criticisms — suggestions of “ — how 
I would have had it.” “ — that lovely gown.” 
“ — the opera, O yes, we were there.” “ — are 
they engaged ? ” “I hear they are going abroad.” 
And this is the style of it all. No doubt it is pleasant 
to those who are engaged in it, but to the listener 
outside, it seems a very petty little orchestra piping 
with penny whistles, instead of bringing forth from 
noble instruments the grand psalm of life. 

Of course we are greatly admired. There is 
always a little group about the table on which 
we stand, and now and then I hear notes of 
more thoughtful conversation, or snatches of witty 
repartee. 

But I am glad when it is all over, when the 
last straggling visitor has departed. When the 
musicians with their stringed instruments have 
played their final airs, when the lights are ex- 
tinguished and silence settles down over the 
house and the drooping roses murmur to each 
other in the close darkness, sending forth a still 
sweeter fragrance which envelops us all in an 
atmosphere of dreamy languor. 



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H, the bustling, vigorous life of the morrow ! 
The brushing out — the putting in place — 
the wearied lackadaisical performance of the 
maids and men! I stand apart and see it 
all, nor fear that it can affect me. Indiffer- 
ently I watch the gathering up of the faded 
flowers — the roses that gave such delight a 
few short hours ago. 

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feather duster to flick away the few last 
particles from picture frames and mirrors. 
She approaches us looking cross and tired. 
Something happens — is it her foot that has 
touched the slender table, or an inadvertent 
stroke from her brush ? I know not — but as 
she shrieks in an agony of fright I 
feel that we are swaying — she makes 
a frantic grasp which only hastens 
the catastrophe — the next moment 
we crash down upon the hard cold 
floor, broken into a dozen pieces. 









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HE shrieks of the woman and the 
sharp fall have stunned me so that I 
pay but little attention to what follows. 
The whole family rush to the spot — 
there is a terrible outcry of grief and 
dismay. We are gathered up and laid 
carefully away. There is a family 
council and much discussion, but my 
owners are not fond of mended ware. 
Many tears are shed, but the decree is 
final. I am condemned to the ash 
heap. Now what could be worse 
than this? 

How fallen am I from my high 
estate — mingled with such dirt and 
trash as I have never known in all my 
existence — tumbled about — rained upon 
— utterly hopeless and forlorn. 

It would seem that nothing in this 
world of vicissitudes sinks so low 
that it has not an attraction for some 
creature. 












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RAG picker, chancing to perceive one 
of the fragments, as it catches the sun- 
light, seeks the remaining parts and places 
us in his bag. We are glad, with a 
subdued gladness, to be together once 
more, but we feel that the best of life 
is over for us. 

We next see the light of day dimly 
through the windows of a “junk” shop. 
A queer old figure bends over us all 
day, and far into the night, cementing 
our various parts together with almost 
miraculous skill. We are carefully washed 
and placed in the dingy window. Life, 
then, is not wholly over for us. 

Shabby people stop to look in upon 
the confusion of strange, rusty and moth- 
eaten odds and ends, in the midst of 
which we sit like a beggars’ queen. I 
perceive with pleasure that we attract the 
most attention. 







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NE day we are again sold. Our price, 
to be sure, is small, and is the occasion of 
much shame, but our new owner handles 
us gently. His very touch comforts, and 
there is something in his simple joy over 
us that tells us he is a true man. It is 
a poor place, the home to which he 
carries us, but from where we rest, high 
upon his bookcase, we look down upon 
scenes of peace and love. We hear 
kindly words only. The people who 
come to sit with our new owner are, like 
him, soft spoken and earnest, and from 
our lofty position we now hear strange 
subjects discussed — books and travel in 
many lands — the wonders of the great 
world of science — discoveries — the relig- 
ions of mankind — and now indeed we 
learn something of the human race, and 
the aim and end of its labor and study. 





MONG the visitors, with unspeakable joy 
I recognize my friend of the glass factory 
— he who first named me Silica, and who 
put the finishing touches to the vase which 
he sent forth with great joy and pride. I am 
ashamed, and tremble, fearing he will recog- 
nize us and scorn us in our fallen estate. 

But when his eyes fall upon us, it is 
with a glance of surprise and pleasure. By 
the winter fireside he tells the story of our 
life, and commends us to the care and affec- 
tion of his friend. 

And so I know that through many trials 
and apparent misfortunes real friends are 
gained and known, and that simplicity and 
safety may be found outside of palaces. 


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HOSE who gaze upon us do not flatter, 
but I know that we still retain much of our 
former loveliness. Our slender graceful shape 
is still worthy of admiration, and the imper- 
ishable glow of those wondrous sea colors, 
brought out in the crucible, is ours. 

“ The very soul of glorious nature is here, 
triumphant over disaster,” our owner some- 
times exclaims. This indeed makes us happy ; 
and so, as the days pass we are content. We 
are in a peaceful environment; we behold 
life from another point of view ; we are 
learning. Still I know there are other phases 
of this universal existence, and that there 
is no limit to the possible experiences of 
even a grain of sand. 




















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